After All
by Kiba Wolf
Summary: A short one-shot/ponder. After all, they were in this together. Together to the end, what else could you imagine, after all?


_After All_

* * *

><p>"Master?" Sebastian questioned, feeling it not polite to ask a more complete question; the question he wanted to ask: Master, what's on your mind? Master, what's troubling you? Ciel, why are your eyes so sad?<p>

Alas, human emotion was not for demons.

"What? He growled, grumpy and forthright as ever.

"I was only wondering what you wanted for dinner," the butler answered, daintily brushing something nonexistent dust from his sleeve. So odd for a demon to be so clean, he mused.

"Why don't you have dinner planned already?" the young Master Phantomhive demanded.

Such a hard-ass, Sebastian thought with a frown.

"I just thought you might like to decide for yourself, for once," the butler remarked slyly. Ciel spun in his seat to face his unruly servant, anger flashing in his eyes.

"You will _not_ use such tones with me Sebastian Michaelis," he growled, jabbing his finger towards the door. "Leave, _now_."

"Yes, Master," Sebastian responded, bowing before making his way towards the large double doors. Ciel watched as his slim figure retreated out of the room, doors softly clicking shut behind him, and didn't sit down again until he released an angry huff of air. His small frame drowned in the massive chair, doing nothing to help his current mood or earlier thoughts.

He would never grow into the powerful frame meant for this chair. Bitterly, he had to admit that at the rate he was growing counterbalanced with his life expectancy (well, soul expectancy would be the more proper term) he wasn't all that likely to even grow another inch. Maybe if Sebastian over-fed him, then the fat would give the illusion of a frame befitting his position.

Stupid butler would never allow that though. His luck, Sebastian was probably draining nutrients from his food just to keep him short. Preposterous, the possibility, but very like the disobedient demon. Where did a demon even learn to cook human food in the first place? That was more preposterous than any enchantments over the food itself.

Stupid demon butler.

Stupid mansion.

Stupid past and future.

Stupid kid.

And that's all he was after all: a stupid kid, caught on the loss of his parents and a cage he could never truly escape.

He would never call it unfair—unfairness was, after all, a universal truth of life, but he would always feel himself unworthy of it.

Not that he didn't deserve to suffer, because surely he had made some mistakes (making a pact with the devil only started this list, it did not conclude it), but rather he felt himself, on occasion, incapable and unworthy, unable to complete the weighty task before him. A sudden thought came upon him, one he had to grin at, even if only slightly.

If—once—he completed his task, he wondered how long it would take for Sebastian to take his soul. Would he allow him a glorious moment of triumph, or would he turn up on the young Phantomhive as soon as the task was completed? If that foolish demon gave him even a moment of respite, then he, Ciel Phantomhive, would be sure to have the last laugh.

After all, the demon couldn't take his soul if Ciel first freed his own restless soul, and if he took his own life, then his spirit would flee to whatever place it belonged. That was another thing entirely to consider: what was better, to have his soul rest in Hell or a demon's belly?

Sebastian had made a rude comment or two about how delicious his tainted soul must be. Perhaps Ciel wouldn't allow him his mean. Hah, he could starve Sebastian by dying, how's that for irony?

_Take that you stupid fiend._

Then again, Ciel had to rescind, feeling an echoing sense of guilt—an unfamiliar sensation these days—as he thought of Finnian, Mey-Rin, and Bardroy. What if that pig ate their souls if he didn't obtain Ciel's? Worse, if he ate their souls despite receiving Ciel's. The young Phantomhive found himself with another question, for which he had no answer, on his mind.

If he gave an order to Sebastian not to harm his other servants, would it persist after the contract was completed? At least he knew Tanaka would be okay. Not only could he make fast tracks, Ciel, in fact, had no damn idea where the elderly man could be at this very moment.

Allowing a brief, rare, genuine smile grace his lips, he released another troubled breath into the atmosphere. The world could deal with that breath of trouble for now.

After all, the young Phantomhive had plenty of time left, both a blessing and a curse at this moment. Grudgingly Ciel recalled his butler's earlier question of what to make for dinner. He knew it wasn't a lack of planning on the butler's part, but rather a calculated boost of motivation and incentive for Ciel.

Loathed to admit it, the demon knew far too much about how his master worked and what made him tick. He was truly the only one able to detect the slightly more downcast than usual look on his face; the only one able to feel the slightest shift in his mood.

And he had made his point—this time.

"Sebastian!" Ciel called out, waiting only a moment before the butler re-appeared and returned to his master's side.

"You called, Master?" he asked politely, no hint of their earlier discussion on his lips.

"I want seafood tonight, and it had better be fresh," the boy barked, not bothering to look at his servant, seemingly too pre-occupied with the new toy the Funtom Company had started producing.

"Of course, Master," Sebastian answered dutifully. "Any specifications on how it should be prepared?"

"I leave that up to you," Ciel answered briskly. "Now leave me." Bowing once more Sebastian left to prepare dinner, grinning only after he had left the room and closed the doors. Even then his smile was brief.

What Ciel either hadn't been aware of or chose (for his own reasons) to ignore was that his butler had stood, unmoving, just outside of the door the entire time, not once truly leaving his young master.

He was afraid that one day Ciel might wise-up and try to cheat his way out of their contract, and he was the type of person to do so. One could hardly blame the demon. He wanted his deliciously tainted soul—a soul akin to one a demon would have (if demons had souls, of course).

More importantly than his own final dinner, Sebastian wanted to protect this lost soul. Highly self-righteous of a demon to call consuming and protecting the same thing, but it would, in fact, protect Ciel's soul from its rightful destination.

A misjudged, misguided soul with a still tender heart hardly deserved to burn in Hell, after all.


End file.
